


The days turn into weeks

by PincushionProtea



Category: Homeland
Genre: Advent Calendar 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-02-09 08:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12884487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PincushionProtea/pseuds/PincushionProtea
Summary: This picks up after 6.3 - my first fic! More chapters coming so comments are most welcome.Posted originally as Advent Calendar 2017 fic on Dec 1.Special thanks to Inchbyinch and Frangipaniflower001 for the encouragement and edits!Chapter 7 is new!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometime early after 6.3. after the “why” and the nightmare….they’ve had a good few days since.

Quinn makes his way up the stairs for some tea to find Carrie cuddling Franny, both asleep on the couch. He heard Franny sneezing and coughing earlier. He can only guess that she couldn’t sleep and came down for comfort, and then the both of them dozed off. He hadn’t expected anyone to be there and hewasn’t as quiet as he could have been going up the stairs. Still, he can only be so quiet with an uncooperative left leg. Franny looked as sweet as ever and it was funny to see Carrie drooling a little. After everything Carrie’s seen of him, Quinn couldn’t help but be a little pleased to get a glimpse of Carrie not looking her best. 

Carrie wakes, startled at first, but is relieved when she sees Quinn. “Hey,” She says in a waking up whisper, as she relaxes with the sight of him. “You ok?” 

She’s always worried about him. 

Quinn, feeling caught in the act, says, “Sorry,” and then turns to go back down. 

“No, stay,” Carrie says and she adjusts herself slightly enough so she can sit up a little but not enough to wake Franny. “I need to bring her up to bed anyway.” Quinn doesn’t go back downstairs but doesn’t go to the kitchen either. He’s somewhat frozen in the moment.

“Could you pass me a tissue? Franny drooled all over me.” 

Quinn grabs a tissue from the box on the side table and hands it to Carrie. She pulls her legs up so there is room for him to sit at the other end of the couch. “Sit,” she says. He obliges and they both sit quietly for a moment. 

“Her nose is stuffy and being upright helps.” 

Quinn just nods in acknowledgment, not feeling particularly talkative. 

Carry gently strokes Franny’s hair while she talks. She’s always done that to Franny since she was a baby. It’s something Carrie remembers her Dad doing to her as a child and then again when she was hospitalized in college, when things were not so great. 

After a couple moments lost in thought, without looking up, Carrie says, “You know, I used to stroke your hair in the hospital sometimes before you went to sleep, in the early days. You probably don’t remember.” 

Quinn kind of remembers something, but mostly doesn’t. Every memory from Germany seems to be in bits and pieces, always in parts but never the whole. Though recently, he does feel some thoughts coming back since he cut down on some of the meds. It makes for more painful days, especially in the morning, waking up to stiff joints, and at night feeling spent at the conclusion of the day, but he’s enjoyed being more lucid and thinks it’s worth it. Plus, despite weirdness with Carrie, he is starting to get comfortable enough in her home to work through some of his pain on his own, especially when everyone is gone during the day and he doesn’t have an audience. He doesn’t feel the need to escape his environment with meds or worse like he did at the VA. Still, he is agitated by Carrie’s assumption that he doesn’t remember, even though she’s right. 

After a moment, Quinn speaks in a quiet but angry voice.“Because you think I’m a child,” 

Carrie, seems stunned and equally agitated. “What? No.” 

She’s tired, frustrated, and annoyed that he took her nice memories of her and Franny, of her and her dad, of her and Quinn… and ruined them. “Because it feels nice,” she continues with a bit of anger in her voice. “And because I wanted to do something nice for you. To provide some relief, considering everything you were going through.” 

Quinn still feels frustrated, but he is not really sure why. “I'm not Franny.” 

Carrie quickly spits back in an angry whisper, “Yeah, no shit. At least Franny loves me back.”

The weight of those words hits them as they both realize what she's just said. They’re quiet once again on the couch, but the air feels thick. She deflects and says, “I better bring Franny up,” avoiding eye contact with him.

She scoops Franny up in her arms and carries her up the stairs, leaving Quinn on the couch, lost in thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments! Here is chapter 2 posted as Advent Calendar 2017 fic on Dec 7.

Franny is well enough to go to school the next day, with just a lingering runny nose to bother her. _It won’t be long before she catches another cold at school, so what’s the point in keeping her home?_ Carrie thinks to herself.  
   
That afternoon, Carrie and Franny come home from school and the house is quiet. Carrie expected the lights to be on and for there to be some sense of life – either Quinn in the kitchen making tea or on the couch watching TV. Instead there is only dark silence, which is interrupted by a sneeze and then a a cough from below. After settling Franny with a cookie and milk and Carrie goes downstairs and finds Quinn shivering on the couch with used tissues everywhere.  
   
“Hey, are you ok?” She goes to check him. He looks flushed and like his forehead could be a bit warm but resists the urge to check.  
   
“Y-yeah.” After a moment, “I think I caught a c-cold.”  
   
“Why didn’t you call me?” Carrie says, worried. Always worried. “Have you eaten anything today?”  
   
“Don’t make everything s-such a big d-deal, Carrie,” says Quinn through the sniffles. Sensing that isn’t enough to change her customary strained expression, he adds, “I had toast earlier.”  
   
Carrie, somewhat satisfied with that answer and realizing that she can’t be so uptight all the time, says, “I’m going to make some dinner. Why don’t you go to bed and rest for a minute and I’ll bring some chicken soup down in a bit?”  
   
Quinn nods and slowly makes his way up from the couch. Carrie resists the urge to help while he makes his way, even slower than usual, to his bed.  
   
Thank god I made a huge pot of soup when Franny was sick, she thinks as she heads back upstairs. She’s only barely used to cooking for 2 people, 1.5 really, as Franny doesn’t eat that much, but now has had to quickly adjust her kitchen for 3. These constant little adjustments in her life— with Franny, with work, with Quinn—don’t seem significant, but they have a way of piling up and making her feel buried.  
   
She warms up some soup and brings it down to Quinn. He’s sitting up in bed and she walks in.  
   
“Ok to leave this here?” Nodding to the bedside table.  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“I’m going to make some soup for Franny too. I’ll be back after I get her off to bed. Let me know if you need anything, ok?”  
   
“Ok,” Quinn says, he wants to tell Carrie to stop being so Florence Nightingale-like, but he is just too tired to resist. Maybe tomorrow he’ll push her away.

He’s lying in bed, when she returns, head tilted back and looking out the window. The soup hasn’t been touched.  
   
“Hey,” she says quietly.  A bit perplexed, “You didn’t eat.” It’s more of a statement than a question. Quinn groans a little, clearly in pain and spent. It’s evening and she knows he has meds to take, despite not talking about them as of late. She grabs a glass from the kitchenette and fills it with water for his pills, handing him the glass and his meds.  
   
He reaches for the water, hands trembling. He tries to lift the glass high enough, almost spilling the water, but can’t quite make it any higher than a certain point. She slowly guides the glass of water he’s holding the rest of the way to reach his lips. He takes a sip and she quickly pops the pill in his mouth. He swallows.  
   
_Fuck._ The fever and exhaustion had made the end-of-day tremors so bad that Quinn found it near impossible to get soup into his mouth without most of it falling on him. _How could I be so stupid Carrie thought, to think that he could have a hot bowl of soup, in bed, like that?_  She starts to apologize, but stops short because she knows he hates it.  
   
“Why didn’t you call me?” she says instead, slightly annoyed. Quinn gives her an icy stare. She already knows the answer why. He hates depending on her.  
   
“Look, you’re exhausted, sick, and you need to eat and I won’t let you starve because you’re too proud. I’m going to warm this soup up and help you eat it.”  
   
“I’m fine,” Quinn says, hoping she’ll leave him alone.  
   
“Yeah, you will be a lot more fine once you have some dinner.” Carrie’s been trying to be more patient with him, but she’s tired.  Franny just got better, and now she has to worry about Quinn falling ill. She’s secretly thankful that tomorrow is Friday and she can take off work to check-in if she needs to.  
   
She goes to microwave the bowl of soup and returns to Quinn’s bed, sits on the edge and brings the first spoonful of soup to his mouth.  
   
He recoils from the burning in his mouth. “Haaaaot!”  
   
“Shit. Fuck!” Flustered, she quickly gives him a sip of water. Carrie is upset at what's just happened. Her eyes well up, partly because she's hurt him, but mostly because she feels like a failure. Always trying to hold it together—with Franny, at work, and now with Quinn. Trying so hard to fire on all cylinders, most of the time feeling like she falls short. She fights back the lump in her throat, not wanting to burst into tears for a second time on Quinn's bed.  
   
“Carrie.” And after a pause, “It's o-ok," Quinn says. He is calm and kind when he speaks. He doesn't really know why Carrie seems to be on the verge of tears so often, but despite his frustration with the way she is, he doesn't want to see her upset, especially over him.  
   
“I thought you were good at this s-stuff,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.  
She lets out a small laugh and her eyes slowly become less wet.  
   
“You didn’t let me do this very often, actually. You were a pretty good patient for about 3 weeks after you woke up and then a huge pain in the ass since then,” she said, slightly smiling.  
   
He let out a small laugh. Sounds about right, he thought. “It'll get better,” he said.  
   
This was the most positive thing he's said in months and even he didn't realize what he meant by it. Was he committing to something? What? And to whom?  
She didn’t really understand what he meant either, but it made her feel good and she said, “Ok.”  
   
By now the soup had cooled to a warm but not burning temperature and she fed him. Carrie didn't talk as she lifted the spoon and brought it to his mouth.  Quinn ate silently, letting the soup warm him, feeing more nourished than he had felt in a while.  
   
She handed him a napkin when a little soup spills on his face, knowing that he wouldn’t want her to wipe it. He can still manage that with shaky hands.  
   
It was really intimate, but undefined. She felt butterflies in her stomach and tenderness for Quinn. She knew that it was love but didn't know what kind.    
There was still a lingering awkwardness from what happened after she hugged him out of that nightmare. She was taken by surprise and just wasn't there yet. She felt guilty about her reaction but tried to suppress the urge to go down that thought spiral right now.  
   
But tonight, sitting with him, and taking care of him and him letting her do it, made her feel on the smallest level that they were starting to be partners again. It was a good feeling.  
   
Quinn sensed a shift too, but he couldn't tell exactly what it was, and besides, he was too exhausted to think.  
   
After the last spoonful, Carrie says, “There. How do feel?"  
"Better,” he said exhaling with a sigh, closing his eyes for a minute and leaning his head back on the headboard.  
   
She moved his pillows while he adjusted to lay down.  
   
Carrie smiled and went to the kitchenette to wash the dishes. She could have just taken them upstairs but she wanted to linger in his space a little longer, looking back into his room, him lying on the bed. When she finished she went in and said, "I'm going to go bed now. Do you need anything else?"  
   
He shook his head no, eyes barely open. She could tell he was still in pain and achy so she took his phone and put her number in, ready to dial with the push of one button.  
   
“Promise me that you’ll call me if you need something, ok?” she says, her tone is threatening but she’s not sure what she is exactly threatening him with.  
   
“Ok fine.” Carrie turns to leave and a few seconds later, Quinn exhales a sleepy “Thanks.”  
   
Her heart melts into a million pieces. She rarely gets any sort of affection back from Quinn and it makes her feel so good that she’s doing something right for once.  
   
She left. And Quinn fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted for Advent Calendar 2017 on Dec 12!  
> Thanks to all the readers for helpful comments!

It gets worse before it gets better.

Her phone rings around 3 am. "Carrie" Quinn's was breathing was labored on the other end. "C-can you c-come here?"

She’s out of bed and down two flights of stairs before he finishes his sentence.

He is shivering, his shirt is drenched in sweat and his head is burning up. She quickly goes to the bathroom to wet a washcloth and wipes his forehead, hoping it will cool him down.

She dials the VA nurse hotline while grabbing a fresh shirt from the drawer.

The nurse recommends bringing him in, worried it could develop into pneumonia. With all his complications, better to be safe than sorry, she said.

Carrie still has to consider Franny, sleeping upstairs. Should she wake her and bring her along? Instead she calls Max. Forty minutes later, Max arrives to find Quinn ready to go, wearing his brace and shoes with a fresh shirt and hoodie.

"You're a lifesaver, Max."  
"Are you sure you don't want me to take him to the hospital?" Max says.

Carried doesn’t. Not at all. She wants to go with Quinn, but she knows Max is right. Franny will want to wake up with her mother to care for her, not Max.

"Ok, but I'll come as soon as Franny is at school,” she says. “I'll be there in a few hours. Take my car," and hands him the keys.

She goes back down and kneels next to Quinn on the couch. He’s breathing hard and looking off into the distance and doesn’t seem all there, as if the fever was taking over. "Quinn, Max is going to take you to the VA. Ok? I'm going to meet you there in a couple hours when Franny is up, alright? You have my number. Call me if you need anything, ok?"

He looked up at her and slightly nodded, teeth chattering.

"Ready?" she asked.

Carrie and Max helped him off the couch and Carrie put his right arm around her shoulder and her arm around his waist to stabilize him while they make their way up the few steps to street level.

When he is settled in the car she says, "I'll see you soon." Max and Carrie exchange a look and he drives off.

Exhausted, Carrie melts into her bed and dozes off for a couple hours. She meant to put in a load of laundry in but that didn’t happen. Franny makes her way into Carrie's room around 7am.

“Mommy! Gooooooood morning!”

“Hey Franny,” Carrie said with a groggy voice, turning to see her bubbly daughter climb into her bed for a morning snuggle.

Carrie makes Franny breakfast and gets her off to school. She is as lively as ever. They bounce back so quickly, Carrie thinks with a smile.

By the time Carrie arrives at the hospital, Quinn had been admitted. Walking down the long corridor, she reaches Max in the hallway, coming out of the bathroom.

“How did everything go?” Carrie asked. “Ok,” Max said. “We waited forever, but he was admitted a couple hours ago and seems to be responding to the meds. He’s resting now. He wasn’t that excited to be back here.”

Carrie feels a pang of guilt and worry. This is just what she was trying to avoid. At least it wasn’t a full-blown panic attack, she thought.

“Go get some coffee, Max. I’ll go in.” Max nods and heads down to the cafeteria.

She turned to go into Quinn’s room. He was lying there with his eyes closed, but not totally asleep. Carrie walked up to his bed and could already tell that the fever reducer was working and his breathing was better.

She lovingly looked down at Quinn and gently put her fingers on his hand but Quinn quickly took his away, causing Carrie to frown. She pulled up a chair and sat next to him.  
“Hey,” She said after a minute, quietly, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Quinn muttered, annoyed at her question.

“I got Franny off to school and came right here,” she said, trying to jog his memory to explain why she didn’t take him herself.

“mhmm,” he said, looking away.

She took her coat and bag off, indicating that she would stay. They didn’t talk for a while.

“How was check in? What did the doctor say?” She said, trying to keep up the conversation and also find out the prognosis.

“I’m sick,” was Quinn’s response.

Carrie sighed. “Well, at least you’re not shivering anymore. That’s good.” Quinn says nothing.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” She said after a while. “Do you need anything?”  
Quinn doesn’t respond but just looks away.

Max comes in with two coffees and exchanges a glance with Carrie.

“Thanks, Max. That hits the spot,” she says as she accepts the steamng cup.

“Hey, Quinn, I got you a muffin.” Max says, handing it to him.

“Thanks, man.” Quinn says, taking it from Max, knowing that his friendliness with Max will annoy Carrie.

A minute later the doctor arrives. He says Quinn was lucky in that he doesn’t have pneumonia. It’s just a really bad flu that was further complicated by his condition. They are going to run a few additional tests this afternoon, and keep him over night.

Carrie looks at the doctor and asks, “When can I take him home?”

_Home._

_Take. Him._

The doctor says, “Once his fever stays down for 8 hours, he can go home,” turning to Quinn, “but Mr. Quinn, you'll need plenty of rest and fluids, ok? You’re supposed to be coming in three times a week for PT anyway, so why don’t you come in Wednesday and let's reassess then, shall we?

“I’ll make sure he rests at home.” Carrie says to the doctor. “Thank you, doctor.”

_Home. She said it again._

The doctor looks at Quinn and Carrie then leaves.

The words reverberated in his ears. He half expected that he would stay in the hospital. That Carrie would realize that the whole thing was a mistake and would say he was better off there. That is just too much for her. That **he** is too much for her. She would try to cover it up with some excuse like – _you'll be better off there. They know how to take care of you._

But no. She said _take him home._

Carrie exhales a sigh of relief, “Well, that’s good news,” she said to Quinn and Max.  
Max nods. Quinn says nothing.

Carrie and Max decide that they should leave Quinn to get some rest while they catch up with work. Carrie brought her laptop, but Max hadn’t thought that far in advance and needes to go home and get some work done, not to mention shower.

“You ok here?” Max asked Carrie in the hallway.

“Yeah. I’m tired as fuck, but I’ll be ok. He seems better, right Max?”

Max gives her a quizzical look. “I mean, obviously not better, because he’s in the hospital, but better as in less agitated? You know, I haven’t had a coffee mug thrown at me in a few days. Not like there are any coffee mugs in there, but you know what I mean.”

Max could see that anxious worried look on Carrie’s face and could tell that she was really trying. Their relationship was so…intense? Complex? Caring? Max didn’t even know what word could describe it, so he just put her hand on her shoulder and said, “Yeah, Carrie. He does seem a little better in that regard.”

After a couple hours of working in the cafeteria, Carrie heads back up to Quinn’s room. She enters quietly, not sure if he is sleeping.  
“Hey,” She says by the door.

“Hey.” Quinn said.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Food?”

Quinn shakes his head.

“I need to get Franny from school, would it be ok if we popped in on the way home? She’d love to see you. Would you be up for that?”

“Sure,” Quinn said.

Carrie and Franny’s visit doesn’t last very long. She can tell he’s tired on only putting on a friendly face for Franny, who is excited to see him and asking all sorts of questions about all the buttons on the bed and elsewhere.

“Time to go Franny,” Carrie said pulling her away from Quinn’s bed. Franny frowns. “But I want to stay.”

“Quinn needs to rest or else he can’t come home with us. Let’s let him gets some sleep while we go home.” Franny turning to Quinn, “I made a picture at school. Do you want it?”

“Yeah, Franny. I do” Quinn says, with a groggy voice.

She runs to her backpack and produces a picture “Here you go.”  
“Thanks Franny.”

Carrie can’t help but smile. She loves them both so much. And even more so together.  
Carrie walks closely to his bed. She takes Quinn’s hand, this time he doesn’t retract.

“Have a good night,” she says with a smile. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”  
And remember…”

“Call if I need anything….yea yea I know.” And Quinn looks away, closing his eyes.

That night Quinn starts to think about these last few days with Carrie. What is it about her that leaves him in a feverish mess? He thought again about what she said earlier in the day. _Take him home._ Did she really mean it? _Come home with us._ God, those words felt like pangs in his heart. He wanted so much for it to be true- that Carrie really did care about him deeply, and that it came from a place of love, not guilt, or foolishness, or impulse or whatever else goes through Carrie’s mind at any given moment.

It is sometime during that night in between moments of sleep that Quinn started to give a fuck about his life and about Carrie’s. He doesn’t know what he is doing in her house or what lies ahead, but he knows that he is not going to be taken down so easily – by the fucking flu. He needs to work at getting better. He needs to give that endeavor more energy than he has for it, frankly. Because he doesn’t want to be defeated by the slightest infection and have Carrie all worried and worse, taking care of him. And he doesn’t want to live this weird existence in her basement forever, with their weird tension. He doesn’t know what they are to each other. Are they even friends? More? He is too tired and groggy to figure it out, and frankly didn’t think that a clear mind could decipher what they had going on, so he just closed his eyes and waited until morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted for dec 20 advent fic calendar. 
> 
> Thanks as always for the comments and encouragement!
> 
> This is my last post for the advent event but I have more chapters in the works. Hoping to finish this story before S7 starts!

 

The next morning Quinn is feeling better. But, him feeling better gives him enough energy to second-guess the whole arrangement. _I have to give her an out he thinks. She is so stubborn, she won’t admit when she’s wrong._

Carrie and Franny come after breakfast. Carrie brings him a duffel bag with some of his clothes and toiletries. She finally managed to get that load of laundry in the night before.

When they arrive, Carrie can already tell that Quinn is in a foul mood. But she shakes it off, not wanting Franny to pick up on it.

“Quinn!!” Franny says when he enters. He manages a smile for Franny. “Hey Franny, how are you?”

“I’m goooood, “ she says. “ You’re coming home today, right?!”

“I don’t know, Franny, maybe not.”

Franny frowns and looks at her mom, not knowing what has changed. Carrie’s face drops. “Are you still sick?” says Franny, worried.

“Kind of, sort of. Yes.” He says.

“Franny, go brush your teeth.”

“But I don’t have a toothbrush here!” says Franny.

Carrie goes to the bathroom and unwraps the travel toothbrush provided by the hospital. “Here. Use this.” Franny is more interested in snooping at what else is in the toiletries kit and she complies.

Carrie turns back to the bed and lowers her voice to have a semblance of a private conversation with Quinn.

“Quinn. What’s going on? Did they say you couldn’t leave today?”

“No, not exactly.”

“What, then?”

“I don’t want to go”

“What do you mean you don’t want to go? I thought you hated here?” 

He looks at Carrie, “You have your hands full. This was a mistake. You say you want me to stay with you, but I can tell it’s no good.”

“You don’t like staying with us?” Carrie says, with a touch of hurt in her voice.

He pauses a minute. “It’s just too much.” Looking towards the window.

What he really means is that it is too much – to be so close to Carrie and yet so far. Also, he is too much for her to handle, just as she said in the car.

“You said you couldn’t take care of me by yourself and you were right.” Quinn says, still looking away and trying to introduce an element of coldness, in the hopes that by using her words, she’ll just accept it.

Instead, Carrie doubles down. She sits on the side of the bed. “Listen, Quinn. I know this is weird. I’m not really sure what we’ve gotten ourselves into. And I’m pretty sure that I’m a shitty caretaker, and I haven’t always been a good friend, but I want you to come back home with us and try it out.”

“Try what out?” he says, perplexed. 

“Your recovery. Come home. Do those follow up visits with PT and let’s reevaluate in a few weeks. If it’s not working, we can figure something else out. But, listen. I want you to stay.”

Quinn can’t really argue. It’s not like he has any place to go, except back to the VA, which he hated. He looks down, sighed, and said “Ok.”

“Is there anything you want to change, or need? To make it more…homey? Well, I guess to make it less like my house and more like your place? We can get….stuff.”

“Not really,” Quinn says, honestly. He doesn’t really have a decor ‘style.’ His life is filled with practical things, nothing he can’t leave at a moments notice. Despite longing for a sense of normalcy, he doesn’t really know what to do with it. And besides, what he’s been through and what he has now are far from normal.

Just then, Franny comes storming out of the bathroom. “Alllll doooone.”

“Hey, Fran. Quinn’s going to get changed into his going-home clothes. Let’s go down to the cafeteria for a snack while he finishes.”

“Want anything from downstairs?” she says at the door, holding Franny’s hand.

“Coffee”

Carrie nodds and goes out.

Quinn lays his head back on the pillow. _What am I going to do?_ This is less than ideal, but she is convincing.

It took quite a bit of energy to get his clothes on, and he has only managed to get his sweats and a t-shirt on by the time the girls return, with his hoodie still by his side on the bed.

Without asking, Carrie helps him put his hoodie on, gently guiding his left, limp arm through and then holding the sleeve for his right arm.

The doctor checks in once more before they go. “Mr. Quinn, I suggest you take it easy for a few days, but then get back into the physical therapy sessions. You should be doing six sessions a week.” The doctor looks at Carrie. “If you need to adjust your schedule to make it easier for drop-offs and pick-ups, we can do that.”

In the short time Quinn had stayed with Carrie, they hadn’t quite figured out the outpatient program and neither of them considered that Quinn might need to be taken there and back.

“Drop-offs and pick-ups?” Carrie says to the doctor.

“Yes, after you establish the route, Mr. Quinn will mostly likely be able to go to the hospital himself, but for now we still recommend someone pick him up after the sessions as they can be quite grueling. Good to have some, um, company on the way home.” The doctor avoided the world help but they both knew what he meant. Quinn is looking off with a displeased look on his face. He hates this. Carrie’s face is no sunnier, but she quickly replies, “Ok, not a problem.”

“Mr. Quinn, you could also take a cab, if that’s easier. And then of course, the bus, on days you’re feeling up to it.” The doctor said, realizing quickly that he needs to give this ‘couple’ options. “Take care. See you in a few days.”

At discharge, the orderly comes with wheelchair ready to leave. Quinn scowls, “I don’t need that.”

“It’s just standard discharge procedure, Quinn.” Carrie says. She finishes putting the last of his few things in his duffel bag. “Don’t be difficult.”

Carrie goes over to the bed and stands by if needed. Quinn ignores her while he takes his right hand on the wheelchair handle and lowers himself in. After adjusting his left arm, he looks at Franny, who has been staring at him throughout the process.

“Want a ride?” Franny’s face lights up and she looks at Carrie for permission. Carrie lets out a slight smile, “If Quinn says it’s ok, it’s ok.” 

Delighted, Franny goes over to Quinn and Carrie hoists her onto his lap, being mindful of his left arm. “Be careful here, Franny. Don’t pull on his arm”

Quinn gives her ‘the look’ while he wraps his right hand around Franny’s waist. Carrie backs off.

“Wheeeee.” Franny has a smile on her face. Carrie grabs the duffle bag and the three of them and the orderly make their way down the halls.

When they ride the elevator, Franny asks, “Peter, when we get home, can we go to the park?”

“Fran, Peter might need to rest when we get home.” Carrie answers for him.

“You’re mom’s right, Franny. Coming home and the park might be too much excitement for one day. But, I would like to watch a movie with you, maybe tomorrow…..if you’re mom says it’s ok.”

As the elevator door opens, Carrie beams from ear to ear. “Yeah, we can have movie day Sunday.”

Carrie turns to Quinn and mouths _‘thank you’_ to Quinn and they go off to the car.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to FrangipaniFlower for the encouragement and thoughtful comments with this and the next few chapters!

Sunday was quiet. Carrie wasn’t sure that Quinn would still be up for a movie, but he was already in the living room when Carrie and Franny came back from the playground. After lunch Quinn and Franny settled on the couch with a movie while Carrie made another batch of soup. She came in and out while it simmered on the stove and finally joined them when it was done. Quinn and Carrie both dozed off for a bit while Franny watched.

The next few days were calm and Quinn got better. Carrie dropped him off at the VA on Wednesday and picked him up. They didn’t say much in the car, but Carrie knew he went to the sessions because he was exhausted afterwards.

Quinn started physical therapy on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Everyone settled into a routine. After the first week, Quinn didn’t want to be dropped off, wanting to enjoy the bus ride to the hospital alone. Carrie still picked him up, though, for now, she said. She said it just made sense to pick him and Franny up by car, but the truth was that she thought he was too spent at the end of the day.

Carrie somehow managed to hop online and do work at the end of the night to catch up, but the reality was that she was tired. Still, it was better than it was before. She never mentioned working at night because she didn’t want Quinn to feel like he was a burden. She wondered how long she could keep that up. It was easy enough in the beginning. He was wiped at the end of the physical therapy days and sometimes ate dinner downstairs so he didn’t need to use energy making small talk.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Quinn caught up on rest and did exercises at home. Not that Carrie could see, as most of the time he did them while everyone was out, but occasionally she caught a glimpse of him doing therapy when she and Franny got home. Franny was always happy to find Quinn in the living room. She was especially excited to have snack time with Quinn. Once, Quinn already had cookies out, in anticipation.

He started to come home with various things, _proof he’s at least going to therapy and not sneaking out_ , Carrie thought. He brought home a wobble board for foot exercises and a new hand brace to stretch his hand at night.

A couple weeks pass and Carrie comes home to him using a mirror box in the living room. “Quinn! What’s that?!” Franny exclaims.

“It’s a mirror box, Fran,” Quinn says, not looking up.

“What’s it for? Why is your hand in there?”

Not overly enthusiastic to share, but Quinn lacks his typical tone of annoyance that he usually has with Carrie. It’s almost impossible to feel annoyed at Franny, and he says matter-of-factly, “I put this hand in the box and I move this hand around to trick my brain into moving my left hand. See?”

“Does it work?”

“I dunno, Fran. We’ll see.”

“Can I try it?”

“Fran! That’s Quinn’s,” Carrie says sternly.

Quinn gives her _the look_ and says, “Sure, Fran, put your hand in here.”

Franny jumps on Quinn’s lap and puts her left hand in the box on top of Quinn’s, moving her right hand around and looking at it in the mirror. He can feel her wiggle around her left hand on top his but can’t manage to join her movements, even though he wants to.

“Well, it’s working for you, Franny,” Quinn says with a half smile.

He keeps using it Tuesdays and Thursdays and sometimes on the weekend when Franny asks to play with it.

  
The following Thursday afternoon Franny is having her afternoon snack in the kitchen while Carrie goes outside to sweep up some of the leaves. She can’t help but peek through the window to check on Quinn. He’s lying down, napping. She goes back upstairs to sweep the top. Just as she was finishing up, she hears a loud scream. Franny and Carrie both look at each other.

“Stay here, Fran.”

Carrie races down the stairs and opens the back door. Does he always leave this unlocked? she thinks.

Quinn is having another nightmare. He thrashes about and while it looks horrific, Carrie is surprised to see how strong and forceful he is. She brings him upright while holding him tight.

“Quinn. It’s me Carrie. You’re safe. Breathe. You’re in my house. We’re in New York. Just take a few breaths. There. She lets go earlier than she’d like so as not to repeat what happened last time. Holding both his shoulders, but still armis distance away, “You ok?”

His breathing slows a bit, he pulls away, and falls back on the bed.

Quinn looks away and lets out a large exhale, “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know.”

“Ok, I don’t know. What do you hate?”

Quinn, pointing to limp left hand, “this” pointing to the room “this”, still not making eye contact, “you.”

Carrie immediately gets a lump in her throat. “Do you really hate me?”

“Sometimes” he says, still looking away. A few seconds later, “why am I here?”

“Why? Because we thought this could help?”

“But really, Carrie. Why am I here?”

“Why? Because I care about you, Quinn.” She doesn’t know why she hesitates to tell him everything she’s feeling. Maybe because she doesn't fully understand herself. She wants him to get better and she wants him to stay. But she doesn’t know what that could really look like after everything they’ve been through. And she definitely doesn’t know what’s going through Quinn’s mind, one day calm, the next saying that he hates her. Thinking about it again gives her a lump in a her throat.

She snaps out of those few seconds of meandering thought. Still sitting on the bed Carrie takes Quinn’s hand.

“Carrie, don’t hold that hand when you know I can’t hold back.” Quinn says with a low, flat voice.

 _Ugh, why can’t I ever get it right_ , she thinks. “Sorry.”

She moves to other side of the bed and takes his good hand.  
He lets her, and then after a few seconds takes it back and raises it to cup her cheek in his hand. Carrie breathes into his palm and puts her hand over his. She can feel the tips of his fingers in her hair,  and it feels so good.

Sadness floods Carrie’s thoughts as she thinks about what she still has to come to terms with, and what can’t quite bring herself to do. Carrie removes his hand, still holding it and lowers her voice slightly. “Quinn, I have to tell you something about berlin. But I can’t now. I need some time. Can we pick a time later?”

“Can’t you just spit it out?”

“I can’t. It hurts too much. But I want us to talk about it. Maybe one night when Franny is asleep?”

“Fine.”


	6. Chapter 6

Quinn laid low that weekend and didn’t take the girls up on any offers for afternoon strolls or playground trips, but he did come up for dinner every night. He got in the habit of lingering a bit, helping to clear the table. Carrie tried to protest him cleaning up too much, saying she’d take care of it, but he resisted, or rather ignored her. It was a familiar dynamic, and one that was slightly comforting because of it.

On Monday, after dinner, Quinn goes to the sink to work on the dishes. Usually soap, water and breakable dishes wouldn’t be a great combination for him, but he realized after trying to wash some dishes in his sink downstairs that it wasn’t as hard as he thought if he just concentrated on the task at hand. He could use his left hand to hold something in place while the right scrubbed whatever was needed. And it felt good to use his hands again, even this way. The running water, lathering the sponge, wiping plates in circular motions until he could feel the grease on the plate disappear in the suds only to be rinsed clean a few seconds later. It felt oddly satisfying, each plate being cleansed. Going from dirty to clean, almost like each plate was being redeemed. Only to be used again, needing another redemption after the next meal.

He was less confident at drying after a plate slipped from this left hand, his grasp not tight enough, and broke on the floor. Carrie liked to help, always, and Quinn was happy to give her the job of drying. He found that she talked less when she had something to do, and that suited him. Sometimes he just didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t mind, however, standing close to her while he washed the dishes and she dried and put them away. In fact, he liked it, but didn’t want to admit it, even to himself.

“You know, I could help you with that.” Carrie said after a few precious moments of silence.

“With what?” Quinn asks, looking up at her.

She nods towards his right, nail bitten hand.

“It’s fine,” Quinn says, looking back down at the dishes in the sink.

“Ok.” She goes back to drying. Feeling like she hasn’t explained herself well, “it’s just. It’s just that for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never bitten your nails.” Pausing for a second, “I get it. But I can help you. It’s not a big deal.” She can’t quite make eye contact when she says it.

“No,” says Quinn, without looking up.

Continuing, “I cut Franny’s nails. And mine, obviously. And...I’ve cut yours before, so it’s really not a big deal,” she says, looking down at the dish she’s drying, a bit embarrassed but cognizant of the fact that he might be more embarrassed.

Stopping for a minute to look up at her, “Can’t you ever drop anything, Carrie?! It’s one of your worst goddamn qualities.”

He goes back to the dishes and scrubs the pot even harder as he finishes the last of the pans. Carrie falls silent and turns towards drying the forks.

The next day passes without consequence. Quinn started therapy again. Well, not really again. He never went back to the shrink they tried to get him to see while he was still in the VA. Instead he booked an appointment with a new psychologist. She was younger than the others and new to New York. She just seemed like a breath of fresh air, like she didn’t have a chip on her shoulder like the others. She definitely didn’t take any of Quinn’s self loathing crap. They connected. Dr. Bend had suggested more than one session a week, but the idea of going to the VA five times a week was too depressing, so he stuck to seeing Dr. Bend on Tuesdays.

It’s Wednesday afternoon and Carrie picks Quinn up at the VA after work. When he gets in the car, Carrie is surprised when she sees him. She’s amazed at how different he looks, of how much more of him she sees. Of how much more familiar he looks to her.

“You got a haircut,” Carrie says, more of a statement than a question.

“Hmm hmmm.” Quinn says as he gets in the car.

“Ho..? where did you go?”

“The barber shop. In the VA.”

“They have one there?” Carrie asks.

“Yup.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize they had one.”

“Yup. I forgot they had one, actually. Dr. B reminded me.”

“Oh.” _He’s talking about hair with his therapist? What else do they talk about?_

She glances down at his hands when he buckles in his seatbelt. Nails cut. Quinn catches her glance and she quickly looks away.

“They do women too, if you ever need a haircut.” Quinn says looking at her with a faint smile in the corner of his lips. “Not sure about coloring though.”

Carrie breaks into an embarrassed smile. “Ha. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She starts the car again and pulls out of the parking lot. “It looks good, Quinn.”


	7. Chapter 7

Days turn into weeks and Quinn seems more content. He still doesn’t say much, but his mood seems lighter. Carrie seems less tense as well. She catches herself smiling from time to time, laughing even, usually when Franny says something funny at dinner. Quinn laughs too, occasionally, and it’s nice.

They now kiss on the cheek when greeting and parting. Franny made them start, about a week ago.

***

“Where my kiss?” She said, when she got home from school. Quinn had been in the living room and came to the doorway to help Franny take her coat off. “In Germany we used to kiss.”

Feeling a bit caught off guard, Carrie responded,“That’s true Fran, but Quinn isn’t German.” 

“Yes, but he was in Germany too,” Franny said looking expectedly at Carrie, not realizing what Quinn’s time in Germany entailed.

The thought of Quinn in Germany created a flood of bad memories for Carrie and she could feel her cheeks getting warm and a lump rising in her throat. When she looked up at Quinn she could see in his eyes that he didn’t want to delve into that past either so he stepped in.

“You’re right Fran, we should properly greet each other.” He held on the bannister and bent down while Franny got on her tiptoes to reach Quinn and then he went over to Carrie and gave her air kiss. 

Satisfied with the outcome, Franny went off to the kitchen for a snack. Quinn and Carrie looked at each other for a second and then Quinn followed Franny to to the kitchen, leaving Carrie lost in thought.

***

Quinn was content to give in to Franny’s whims, and found it futile to fight with a Mathison girl. And, when given the choice, he’d much rather take orders from Franny than Carrie. It was still awkward between him and Carrie, but in way he’s never felt closer to her. The peck on the cheek was barely anything physical but maybe it’s the way that she integrated him into her life in her home with her daughter. He found himself looking forward to seeing them at the end of the day. And trying to be productive during the day to chase away the boredom and loneliness. Sometimes he thinks he misses them during the day. 

Carrie loves his willingness to please Franny. She was unsure at first but now she looks forward to these small moments of happiness that now punctuated the beginning and ends of her days. Sometimes the Franny mandated pecks on the cheek feel like they really mean something and she gets butterflies.

Carrie’s not sure, but she thinks his drop foot is getting better. The hand, less so. Whenever she tries to ask him how PT is going, he just responds, “fine,” so she decides to drop it.

“I think you’re getting better, Quinn.”  
“Sure, if you say so,” he retorts.  
“You don’t think so?”  
“Maybe.”

After a couple weeks, Carrie asks if she can help with any PT at home. At first Quinn refuses, but a few days pass and he hands her a print out when she gets home. Carrie looks at the paper, looks up at Quinn, “Ok. After dinner.” Quinn nods. 

Carrie helps with range of movement motions on this left arm. He only lets her do things he can’t manage on his own. If he can do it alone or against a wall, then he opts for that route. The few exercises become an after dinner routine they do while Franny puts on her pajamas and gets ready for bed.

The weather begins to turn to a more crisp autumn.

Quinn starts to come up for dinner more regularly. Most days he helps with the dishes but some days he melts into the couch. After the few evening exercises, Carrie gets into the habit of rubbing some of Quinn’s sore arm and shoulder muscles for a few minutes. Every so often he says thanks, but Carrie is just grateful he doesn’t fight her at every turn. He seems much more relaxed and Carrie seems more relaxed too.

One night after dinner Quinn is sitting in the side chair with the ottoman, Carrie crawls behind him and nestles herself between him and the chair, massaging his shoulders and arms. He groans slightly and leans his head back onto her neck. Carrie wraps her arms around his neck and breathes him in for a moment. It feels so good just to be.

She relaxes a bit too and for once just says what comes to mind, “I’m so glad you’re here, Quinn.”

“Me too. I guess.” Carrie smirks a bit. “Is there someplace you’d rather be?” She asks.

After a minute, “No. Just that I wish it were under different circumstances. Or, at least,” after a pause, “I wish I was different.”

“I know. I mean, err, I don’t know. I mean, me too,” As Carrie says the words, she can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. She resumes rubbing his neck and head. She has to talk to him about his stroke, but can’t find the words yet.


	8. Chapter 8

A few days pass and Quinn notices Carrie sneezing a bit, and how stuffed up she sounds while she talks. Quinn hears Carrie have a sneezing fit in the kitchen as she’s boiling pasta for dinner.  
“Bless you mommy!” Franny screams from the living room.

Gathering herself though a sniffly, stuffy nose, Carrie says, “Thanks, Fran.”  
Carrie has one of those colds that just linger for days, the kind caused by exhaustion and kids’ germs. Dinner is quiet and when Carrie gets up to take the dishes, Quinn beats her to the punch.

“No, I’ll do it. Go lay down on the couch.”  
“But, I was going to….”  
“I know. I said I’ll do it,” he says while taking her bowl to the kitchen.  
“Do you need hel…”  
“I said go, Carrie.” He starts the faucet to rinse the dishes.

Carrie submits and goes to the couch while Franny goes upstairs for pjs.

Quinn puts the kettle on while he loads the dishwasher. It takes twice as long with one hand, but he gets it done. He makes her tea and puts it on the side table in front of her, not saying a word. Then he gets the throw from the side chair and gives it to her. Carrie relents, takes it and settles into the couch, laying down.

Franny comes down to say goodnight and goes back upstairs with Quinn. After one story in bed with Hop, Franny yawns and asks, “Is mommy sick again?”

  
“I think she just has a cold Franny.” It takes Quinn a minute to register what Franny is saying. Quinn looks quizzically at Franny. “What do you mean again? Does she get sick a lot?”

  
“Not a lot. But sometimes she’s sick for a long time and she cries.”  
“When’s the last time she was sick like that?”  
“When we first moved to New York. But Max took her to the doctor and she felt better.”

Quinn tried to recall the timing of this period. Kids were great because they divulged all sorts of information, but he knew asking her specific dates wouldn’t be fruitful. It’s not like he could recall them either. His first weeks in New York were a daze. Over medicated, exhausting, and uncomfortable. He vaguely remembers snippets of Carrie visiting him. She didn’t seem down but they barely talked. It occurrs to him that he never asked how she was doing. Every visit started with her asking how he was doing. _God, I’m such an asshole._

“Don’t worry, Franny. She just needs some rest. How about tomorrow morning we make breakfast together and let your mom sleep in?”

Franny beams from ear to ear and nods her head yes.

“Ok then, goodnight.”  
he tucks her in and tousles her hair gently before getting up to turn off the light and leave.

Downstairs Quinn finds Carrie asleep on the couch. He kneels on the floor By the couch and takes a moment to look at her. She looks so beautiful and peaceful, despite being sick. Her calm expression makes him realize how stressed she looks most of the time. He doesn’t want to wake her, but knows that the couch wasn’t the best place to get a good night’s sleep, especially if he and Franny would be making noise in the morning.

Quinn gently touches Carrie’s shoulder, “Hey.” She stirs. “I don’t want to wake you up, but I really think you should sleep in your bed.”

  
Carrie wakes a little, still groggy.  
“Come on.” Quinn awkwardly gets up off the floor while Carrie sits up. He offers his good hand and when she rises he places it at the small of her back, to gently guide her up the stairs, for a moment thinking about how tonight was the first time he put one Mathison girl to bed, and now he’s tucking a second one in for the night.

Carrie kicks off her shoes, gets into bed with her clothes on and closes her eyes as soon as her head hits the pillow.  
“Good night,” he says from the doorway, turning off the light.  
“hhmm night Quinn,” and Carrie falls back asleep.

The next morning Carrie wakes to the smell of coffee. She turns over to look at the clock – 8:30 – she can’t remember the last time she slept that late. She panics for a moment, then remembers it’s Saturday.

When she comes downstairs, Quinn and Franny are chatting while Quinn clears the plates.  
“Mommy! We already ate! Quinn made pancakes!”

“I see that,” Carrie says with a smile. “Morning sweetie.” Carrie bends down to kiss Franny on the head.

She looks up at Quinn, “Thanks. For all this.”  
Quinn doesn’t pause what he’s doing, “Hungry?”  
She smiles, “yeah.”  
“Sit down.” Quinn scoops more batter and pours it into the pan. Carrie sits for a second then gets up to pour herself coffee and goes back to the table. 

“Do you feel better, Mommy? Quinn said you should sleep.”  
“I do Franny. Thanks.” Carrie says, still stuffy but sounding more rested.  
“What are we going to do today?” Franny asks. 

Quinn puts Carrie’s pancakes on the plate and brings it to the table. As he sets it down in front of her, Carrie looks up, only doing a halfway decent job of holding back a big smile, and says, “I dunno. Quinn, what are we going to do today?” 

  
Quinn drapes the kitchen towel over his shoulder and leans on the kitchen counter. “We could go to the playground if you want some air. Then maybe we can come back here for lunch and a nap.”

  
“I don’t want to take a nap!” rebuts Franny.  
“You can play. Your mom can take a nap. I’ll probably take one too after all this. Sound good?” 

  
“Yesssss,” Franny confirms.  
Carrie smiles, this time not restraining how happy she is, “Sounds good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed cheering up after the last episode, so fic to the rescue! I love the idea of them taking turns taking care of each other. And Franny as usual helps put the pieces together for them. Comments always welcome! I need to address the waking up soon!


End file.
